


Draw The Line, It's There To Cross

by ActualHurry



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch, Flirting, M/M, McCree's the boss, Mission Fic, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 20:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16353929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: McCree becomes a millionaire for the weekend and Reyes becomes his bodyguard.





	1. The Prep

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, was this a doozy. I'm not entirely certain I LIKE this after spending so much time looking at it, but hey, it's done! Thank you to Agent_24 for betaing the entire thing for me, it wouldn't be nearly as coherent as it is now without you. :)

“You’re kidding me, sir.” McCree dropped the tablet holding all the information for their upcoming mission onto the table, then fixed Reyes with a dubious stare. “Me? _I’m_ supposed to be the billionaire?”

“ _Millionaire_ ,” Reyes corrected, pointing at the tablet expectantly, as if he was miffed that McCree would get such an obvious detail wrong. “I’m taking the backseat because I have to monitor two other teams while we handle our own gig.”

McCree almost argued that he could handle the monitoring just fine, thank you very much, but then Reyes raised a brow and added, “I’ll buy our drinks next time,” and McCree crumbled under the bribe. The premise of Reyes shelling out the dollars for McCree’s favorite expensive whiskey was too tempting to pass up, and McCree gave in with a determined pointing motion at the Blackwatch Commander.

“Fine, fine. After the mission’s over. You, me, and the usual place.”

For all that McCree put on airs, seeing Reyes smile all sideways like that was more than worth it. “Deal.”

Two days later they were on a flight to Las Vegas. McCree was wearing a tailored suit. Reyes was crunching loudly on complimentary peanuts next to him, slouched low in his chair and unbothered by the world.

“You’d think first class’d give us something better’n this,” said Dez, Blackwatch’s newest recruit. She jiggled another bag of peanuts across the aisle at McCree (he’d refused to take the window seat). McCree snatched the bag from her. “Hey — ”

He tossed the pilfered bag into Reyes’ lap. “For your metabolism’s sake.”

“Wow, thanks.”

And if that wasn’t the most sarcastic thank you that McCree’d ever gotten, he might just have to go shoot himself in the knee. “Lemme just take ‘em back then,” he said, reaching over, and laughed when Reyes put an arm protectively between his grabby fingers and the peanut bag.

Aside from Dez and Hough (who stayed as stoically silent as ever during the flight), there was another team of two — Rossner and Everett — already stationed at the casino hotel they’d all be staying in. They’d had to stagger their arrivals to avoid potential suspicion. McCree was already uncomfortable enough in his suit and more than ready to get the party started. Sooner they were done, sooner he’d get good marks, sooner things would run smoothly for the rest of them and they could get back onto base and run the missions McCree actually _liked_ , the ones where he could shoot at people and not the ones where he had to pretend to be someone who knew the difference between different cutlery at fancy dinners.

(Even though he _did_ know the various kinds of cutlery, even all the forks, but he’d had to learn specifically for a mission just like this. So it hardly counted.)

Reyes interrupted his thoughts by opening the second package of peanuts. When he offered a handful to McCree, he shrugged and took them. His last full meal had been the day before their flight, and the base was a long way away by now. Might as well dig right in.

“Hope you all brought plenty cash with you,” Reyes said.

 

They checked into their room as soon as they reached the hotel. Each team had their own separate rooms in different hotels to cover the widest ground possible. They’d all been given fake names, forged identification, and fluffed-up personal stories too, aiming to appear as perfectly genuine, deep-pocketed gamblers. Some of the group — mainly Dez — seemed to be enjoying themselves, but to McCree the whole mission was just another notch on his belt.

As they entered their lavish quarters, McCree whistled long and low to show his appreciation. He dumped his bag on the floor next to the bed closest to the bathroom just to see if Reyes would pull rank on him, and when he didn’t, secretly rejoiced.

“Why don’t our bunks at base look like this, huh, boss?” McCree asked, wry, peeking into the bathroom.

Reyes snorted. “Enjoy it while you can, McCree.” He fixed his tiny micro-communicator in his ear and cleared his throat. “Comm check?”

McCree gave him a thumbs up as he kept snooping around. “Present,” came Dez’s response, then Hough’s gruff, “Here.” Everett piped up with a quick, “Accounted for,” and Rossner followed suit with a, “Commander.”

A motley crew, but a necessary one — the target was a high roller named Maud Harlem, known for being a regular at several casinos in the area. He was rich in time and richer in money and must have inherited quite the fortune from his father, or so everyone figured. The truth was that he was almost definitely a key member of a smuggling ring for weapons, illicit omnic parts, drugs… and people too, the rumors went. Blackwatch never functioned just off of rumor alone, but they had more than enough reason to believe that getting info out of Maud was going to lead them to the kingpin of the whole circle, one way or another.

“You know the drill,” Reyes went on. “Look for our guy. You see him, you let me know. We’ve got intel that he’s looking for new business partners. Congratulations, half of you are now very, very rich. The other half are playing bodyguards. Watch each others’ backs and speak up if you see anything suspicious other than Maud, and don’t engage until I give you the go ahead. Dismissed.”

McCree wandered around the rest of the room as Reyes spoke. It was a spacious area, deep red carpets with clean eggshell walls covered in expert paintings by people whose names he probably wouldn’t be able to pronounce correctly if he tried. It felt a little intimidating, overall. Definitely felt like it was asking him to throw away his money. There were unopened bottles of champagne on both of their nightstands too, which McCree gave a thoughtful look. He opened the drawers, found nothing of interest, and was satisfied then that the room was bug and camera free.

He tested the mattress by laying down on it, and then instantly decided to not get up again.

“This is nice,” he exclaimed, half-surprised at the luxury of the thick comforter. He sank down into it, humming lightly. “Ooh.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Reyes said, but there was something amused in his voice.

McCree let his eyes fall shut after waving a dismissive hand Reyes’ way. He listened to the shuffling of cloth as Reyes settled his things and no doubt prepared to leave the privacy of their room. For all that he felt uncomfortable in a tailored suit, McCree wasn’t displeased to be working with Reyes so closely on this —  it had been a long while since their last mission together, since McCree had been off running recon here and there. It felt like a return to normalcy, or at least a break from some kind of hectic lonesome.

When he felt a presence standing over him, he opened his eyes to see Reyes waiting above. He’d changed out of his comfortable hoodie into a dark gray dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the forearm, black slacks accompanying the look. He’d lost the beanie in favor of showing off mussed curls. Usually when Reyes spent an excess of time at base between missions, he’d end up with an unkempt goatee to match his general discontent with the world, but he’d tidied his face up before the flight, and it looked good on him. McCree ignored, through sheer professionalism, the way his mouth had gone a little dry.

“Time to get going,” Reyes said, and if McCree didn’t know better, he’d say he was a little self-conscious by the way he kept his arms crossed and lips pressed together.

“Yeah.” McCree swung his legs over the opposite side of his bed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood. “Let’s blow some fake money and catch some eyes.”

“Look at me first.”

That was definitely the last thing McCree wanted to do with how _good_ Reyes looked at the moment, but he went through with it anyway, staying right where he was for Reyes to peruse. He didn’t seem overly critical at least, even if McCree was itching to wear anything else. The lighter gray suit McCree wore wasn’t near as dark as Reyes’ outfit, which was suitable for the characters they needed to play, and McCree’s hair had been shorn short just last week, up from the nape of his neck, though his fringe still dared to fall into his eyes every so often.

“We should’ve slicked your hair back,” Reyes pointed out, eyes glittering.

McCree coughed to hide his laughter, beginning to walk away. “With all due respect, I think the hell not.”

“We still have time.”

“Reckon I’m good, Reyes.”

“Whatever you say, trust fund.”

They left their weapons behind in their hotel room. There was no way they’d be getting through casino security with loaded guns at their hips, no matter how much money they had with them, which was an unfortunate reality for a man like McCree. Still, Reyes staying with him meant there was very little chance they’d run into problems. Lacking his security blanket made of iron, at least he had Reyes.

The elevator going down to the casino floor was manned by an omnic whose eye-lights brightened in greeting when they stepped through the doors. McCree just about nodded back before Reyes’ nudged him a silent reproof in the form of an elbow. Right. Rich asshole. Reyes folded his arms behind his back and didn’t look at him as the floors ticked lower and lower still.

“Enjoy your time with us, gentlemen,” the omnic said pleasantly as the doors opened to flashing lights and a cacophony of noise.

McCree carefully kept his frown to himself as he regarded the casino floor, feeling Reyes shadow him closely. There was a bar in the center, the polished wooden floor leading right to it like a path, different sections of flashy carpet denoting different activities. Roulette, cards, slots. The place had everything a gambling addict could want and more, and McCree took the myriad of patrons in slowly under the guise of wondering where to begin.

“The drinks complimentary, you think?” McCree asked Reyes.

“Freely flowing bar, freely flowing pockets,” Reyes murmured in return, his quiet voice somehow managing to overcome the chaos around them. McCree took some familiar comfort in it as he approached the raucous and very drunk casino-goers.

The drinks were not, in fact, complimentary, which was thoroughly disappointing to everyone but the bartenders, McCree was sure. They took two seats at the edge of the action but not far enough to be pariahs, appearing to simply bask in the excess energy burning off of the crowd. McCree sipped at his drink while Reyes patiently held his own, and at the questioning glance, Reyes smiled slightly and tossed his gaze sideways.

“This is yours too,” Reyes said, then slid his glass over McCree’s way. “What sort of bodyguard drinks on the clock? Spoil yourself, _boss_.”

Right. That was… weird. McCree would forever stand by his opinion that Reyes should’ve been the boss in this scenario.

He settled into his seat further, widened the angle of his knees until he was slouching comfortably. Reyes stayed alert and watchful while McCree kept his observations up from beneath lazy-lidded eyes. Minutes passed with no sight of Maud, no hide nor hair, and the other teams reported similarly lackluster results. McCree wasn’t about to sit here for the rest of the night without a single lead. Patience he had in spades when he was watching someone through sights, but like this, out of his element? He was ready to get the show on the road.

Bristling beneath his suit, he raised a hand high to catch the bartender’s attention, then pointed over to a group of rowdy folks at a nearby roulette table.

“Drinks over there on me!” McCree shouted, to resounding applause and cheers all around that nearly drowned out the repetitive music playing on the speakers high above. He grinned wide, flashing teeth, and clasped his hands together. “Y'all were looking like you could use some liquid courage! Go on, keep challenging your luck.”

And so the cycle continued, McCree buying drinks for those down on their luck and creating what might have been the longest tab in the casino’s history. From the way the main bartender started eyeing him, he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear it. He only shot the guy a smile and kept on, hour after hour, stirring the pots and starting whispers.

“How’s the charitable casanova persona working for you?” Reyes asked finally when some of the crowd had actually dispersed from where they’d gathered closer to their table. Everyone looking for a handout, he thought, almost amused.

“You tell me,” McCree replied, his smile glowing. “I’d say we’re the talk of the place. Ain’t that something.”

Reyes looked at him unreadably until McCree felt utterly scrutinized, but the returning smile he got felt like he’d _earned_ it. “Catch more flies with honey?”

Their eyes stayed locked another long moment, McCree finally relenting to finish off the drink he’d been nursing for much too long. It wasn’t like he and Reyes hadn’t run missions as a duo together plenty of times before — but this time, something electric was in the air, crackling as if lightning could have its way with them at any moment, if only they blinked.

Maybe it was the atmosphere. Maybe it was their roles, this time. Maybe it was the routine nights out together catching up to them.

Maybe McCree had just reached his limit of fooling himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Reyes straighten, and McCree knocked his glass to the table a little harder than necessary to say, _hey, I see you, what is it?_ But Reyes didn’t need to say a thing; Maud Harlem did all the speaking for him.

“Who needs to gamble their money away when they can simply give it away?”

Turning around in his seat as if surprised, McCree gave their target a once-over. The man’s wide face and slicked-back hair was a strange match, the dark pair of shades he wore eclipsing his eyes. His suit was even tighter than McCree’s, but he was wearing cufflinks made of hard light. Talk about a status symbol.

“Finally, someone who gets it!” McCree said indulgently, opening his arms as if already making friends. Reyes turned his head, surreptitiously alerted the rest of the team as McCree got up to welcome Maud, clasping his hand with a put-on amount of delight.

“Maud Harlem,” Maud said, slowly smirking at the display of enthusiasm. _Got ‘em._

“Ralphie Osborne,” McCree replied with a toothy smile, shaking Maud’s hand firmly. Aiming to appeal to the guy’s arrogance should work, he figured. Cufflinks like that? Shit, maybe even kissing his shoes would get them in the door faster.

Reyes stayed quiet, but the way he loomed over McCree’s shoulder made his purpose all the more obvious. He was close enough that McCree could feel him nearly brushing up against his back; he tried not to focus on that as much as he wanted to. He could already hear the reprimand about not paying attention — not that he was going to admit the reason for his distraction to Reyes, of all people.

“Tell me, what brings such a greenhorn here to my neck of the woods, hm?” Maud began, and waved McCree off as he opened his mouth to reply. “Wait, let me buy you a drink. You’ve been a charity all night, it’s your turn to be a little catered to.”

“Generous of you,” replied McCree, settling into his chair again. He waved his hand to dismiss Reyes, who stood up with a nod and walked to another table, having a seat there. Letting McCree do his work unhindered… kind of him.

Once they’d both gotten their beverages, Maud took a long drink and sighed something that sounded like contentment. “Now, what was I saying?”

“Calling me a _greenhorn_ , sounded like.” McCree gave a savage grin. “No offense taken.”

Maud laughed. “Good! I don’t get along with those who aren’t thick skinned.” He sobered then, looking seriously at McCree. The sudden shift in atmosphere didn’t go unnoticed by Reyes across the way, and McCree caught him turning slightly towards them. Only slightly. “But it’s a dangerous thing around here, throwing money around like you are without knowing the big names.”

“Big names like yours?”

“Like mine.” Maud smiled again, but it wasn’t sincere. “Tell you what. You seem clever, but you need someone to… take you under their wing, really, in a place like this. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, after all.”

That sounded like a thinly veiled threat to McCree, but the persona he was putting on wouldn’t give a shit about it, so he just thumbed along the top of his drink contemplatively. “Hm. That an offer coming from you?”

Maud polished off his drink with a hefty swig. To his credit, he didn’t flinch at the burn as it went down. Dusting off his palms, cufflinks still shimmering, Maud slid a small flyer across the table to him. McCree plucked the little piece of paper up, looking it over without taking his attention off of Maud; it was an advertisement for what appeared to be an exclusive club of some kind. Address included, invitation implied. McCree flicked his gaze up from the top of the flyer, tilting his head in silent question.

“Are you the entrepreneur type?” Maud asked.

McCree tucked the flyer into the inside of his jacket. “Depends. Legitimately, or… less legitimately?”

Maud’s reaction was an instant, glimmering smile. “I think we’re two of a kind, Mr. Osborne. I hope to see you tomorrow evening. For now, I’m expected elsewhere.”

“I’ll be there,” he promised, and they shook hands in farewell. Maud walked away, leaving McCree alone to ponder the likelihood of this leading somewhere useful. He didn’t bother to look up to see Reyes approach, just hummed in acknowledgment when he felt his presence at his side. “Who would’ve thought making it rain would be so effective?”

“People get hot and bothered when there’s wealth involved,” Reyes replied, unimpressed. “Even other wealthy people.”

“Mm.” McCree got to his feet. “Let’s skedaddle. We got somewhere to be tomorrow.”

Making it back to the hotel room was easy; they took their time so as to not appear like they were cutting and running, picking up some chips and heading over to gamble it away. McCree came out a little richer than he’d expected, though it wasn’t anything near the money he’d been alloted to mess with tonight. Reyes abstained from gambling anything at all, but he gave a series of short, approving claps as McCree showed him his winnings.

“So what’re you thinking?” McCree asked once they were safe in the hotel room.

There was a long, thoughtful pause before he got a response. “I don’t think he has as much of a lead as we want,” Reyes said, slow. “He’s not stupid, but he’s not important enough to be busy.”

“Maybe it’s a front.”

“Then he’s a decoy for someone higher up.”

McCree gave an uncertain shrug in reply, taking his suit jacket off and tossing it onto the bed. Once he checked in with the other groups, he took his comm out of his ear, then worked on the buttons of his shirt. Movement caught his eye, and he glanced over on reflex to see Reyes stripping out of the top he’d been wearing — and somehow it was the most alluring sight he’d ever laid eyes on. McCree caught himself staring, despite having seen Reyes shirtless plenty of times before, but that electricity from earlier nagged at the back of his mind, demanding to be revisited.

Reyes looked up, met his eyes. Something flashed across his face, too quick to be identified, but McCree could make some hopeful guesses.

“Everything okay?” Reyes asked, stalling with the shirt in his hands.

“Yeah,” McCree said. It wasn’t a lie. It just…

_Time and place_ , he thought.

They both went back to what they were doing, albeit slower than before. Reyes kept his pants on in the room, which McCree was grateful for if only for his pride. Reyes took the shower first and had to walk past McCree to get there, and if he brushed past a little closer than he needed to, McCree wasn’t about to tell him not to.

Later, when they were both lying in their respective beds, Reyes broke the silence.

“You did good today.”

McCree’s lips curled up into something entertained, and in the dark he turned his head, imagining that he could see Reyes watching him back.

“Looked good, too,” he replied, testing.

Time ticked past. McCree almost started worrying, nearly rolled over on his side and tried to sleep to forget he ever dared say anything at all, except then —

“Yeah. Guess you clean up nice.”

He’d take it.


	2. The Mission

With just McCree and Reyes meeting Maud tonight, the other groups were on standby in case of emergency. If (when) things went south, the unoccupied two teams would raze the place to get them out within the night, incognito or otherwise.

McCree surveyed the club when they arrived. It was a short distance away from the casino and their hotel, a modern-style building with only one identifying marker on it: the name, _Pinnacle_ , scrawled out in glowing neon script above the doors. There was no line, and two bouncers outside. Despite their generous distance, McCree could feel the pulsing of the music from the inside. Next to him, he noticed Reyes tapping away on one of their burner phones.

“Any standout reviews?” McCree asked, glancing over.

“‘Good vibes,’” he read aloud, then slipped the phone back in his pocket. “Whatever that means. It’s all anyone ever writes about it, outside of gushing about how exclusive the place is.”

“Sounds like shills.”

“ _Nooo_ , really.”

Laughing lightly, McCree walked them in. He flashed the advertisement to the men guarding the outside of the club, and got nothing more than a nod in return. They were allowed in, and in an instant the music hit like a brick fucking wall. It was pounding, constant, weaving electronic melodies between deep bass growls. McCree realized he was way out of touch with newer music right around the time that he got someone’s drink spilled on him.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” gasped the girl who’d bumped into him, clutching her glass to herself, but it was more like she had to yell over the music anyway. McCree was too focused on the way Reyes grabbed his elbow to pull him back to care, just shaking his head at the girl as if to write it all off.

“Take your jacket off,” Reyes suggested, closer than McCree would’ve expected. “Or you’ll smell like vodka all night.”

McCree slipped his arms out of the sleeves, handing the jacket over to Reyes, who draped it over one of his shoulders. “Watch yourself, that’s expensive,” he warned, leaning into Reyes to make himself heard.

“Ha.”

It didn’t take long for them to find Maud sitting at the bar, half because he waved them over and half because there was plenty of space between him and the nearest clubgoers. It seemed to be a healthy distance borne of some demanded respect — that, or the hulking boulder of a man standing at Maud’s side. His face dinged something familiar in McCree’s mind, and he suddenly remembered seeing the man the night before, doing nothing more than lingering around while he and Maud had been busy speaking.

McCree slid his gaze to the side, looking at Reyes. So he wasn’t the only one with a bodyguard.

“Mr. Osborne! So glad you could make it,” Maud called over the music as they approached. “Apologies for the noise, my… offices are in the back.”

“It’s no problem,” McCree said smoothly, smiling like a snake and feeling just as slimy for it. “I’m no stranger to places like these, friend.”

“I bet you’re not.” Something in Maud’s voice sounded decidedly uninterested, and he motioned for McCree to follow as he stood. “Come with me? Unless you’d prefer your desserts before dinner.”

The obvious look at the bar made the meaning clear, but McCree shook his head. “You got my full attention.” Turning to Reyes for a second, McCree pointed at him. “Stay, be good. No drinking on the job, neither.”

Reyes sat down at the bar but put his hands up, empty, as if to promise his abstinence. “Yes, sir.”

Face warming funny at that, McCree only nodded once, trusting that Reyes wouldn’t be in any danger apart from him — and vice-versa. Walking a distance away with Maud, he tucked a few wayward strands of hair behind his ear so he could lightly brush a finger against the proximity feature on his comm, silently relieved when he could hear Reyes’ voice on the other end. Part of him had been unsure that it would work at all in this loud environment, not to mention the likelihood of jammers probably stocking the inside of the walls here. He couldn’t help but eavesdrop as he trailed after Maud, not entirely riveted by the hectic surroundings.

“ — just let him boss you ‘round like that?” Maud’s guard was asking Reyes, a little tentatively. “You got years on ‘im.”

McCree could imagine Reyes shrugging, clear as day. “He’s got the bigger dick.”

It took a herculean effort not to instantly give himself away. McCree nearly started laughing then and there, so caught off-guard despite being not at all a stranger to Reyes’ brand of humor. If Maud noticed anything off, he didn’t say a word, and neither did he look back, so McCree felt secure in his threadbare self-control.

The gyrating groups of people melted out of the way for them, as if each and every person here knew damn well who Maud was — and likely, they did. Wasn’t like the guy kept a low profile when he kept a portrait of himself in the VIP lounge, visible from the dance floor. They made their way into a long, dark hallway, where McCree found himself eyeing every single hinge of every closed door like he’d have to smash a head into one unfortunate corner or another at any moment, but they reached the end of the hall without any incident.

“What area of business are you interested in?” Maud asked, fishing in his pocket. McCree watched out of his peripheral, indirect about it, and hummed nonchalantly. Here, the music was nothing but distant pounding not unlike a heartbeat. Reyes’ comm was nearly silent. He tried not to worry about it.

“Not sure where I’m looking to, ah, specialize yet. Was thinking… entertainment. For a wide variety of tastes,” McCree mused. Speaking sleazebag was an exercise in subtlety.

Maud pulled out a keycard and flashed it at the door lock. “A man after my own heart.”

_Fuck, I sure hope not,_ he thought desperately. The door opened with a slide, higher tech than the older doors before, and he followed Maud in. “I’m counting my lucky stars we happened upon each other. My old man only just bit the dust, so I’ve been at a loss trying to decide what to...invest in.”

“Lady luck sure has a way of things, doesn’t she?”

McCree gave a little, agreeable _hm_ , already busy peering around in the new room. Fluorescent lighting bathed the area in a sickly white. Omnic models of all types, whole and appearing in working condition, lined the walls, but all appeared to be decommissioned, or maybe never even powered in the first place. On a shelf across the way, there were guns and more guns and _more guns_ , complete with an arsenal that impressed even McCree. The most distant wall yielded countless containers covered in labels that McCree could only assume were drugs or chemicals of some kind.

“Sure, she does,” McCree replied finally, sounding appropriately awed. “Do reckon I hit the jackpot with you, Mr. Harlem.”

Maud met his gaze with a wide, slimy smile. “Then let’s do business.”

They talked potential first, then networking and numbers. Maud seemed to have taken a liking to McCree, if the way his dark eyes glittering at McCree’s interest meant anything. As it turned out, Maud was particularly famous in several smuggling circles, and offered up front to introduce him during their next get-together, which was apparently on a monthly basis. That was all well and good, but McCree had a mission to finish and a commander to get back to. The longer they stood around shooting the shit, the more they risked getting found out.

“So, uh.” McCree glanced side to side, dared to ask — “Omnics’re fine, y’know, scratches the itch for some people. But I’m looking for some more authentic options.”

The only sign something had gone wrong with the question was Maud stalling, staring at him for a long, inscrutable second.

“Omnic trafficking is one thing,” Maud said slowly. His face gave nothing away, but his hand slipped to his waist. McCree tensed. “What you’re asking for is, well…”

“I’m sure, Mr. Harlem, but I like taking leaps of faith,” McCree replied, portraying something unbothered.

“I just don’t think that we can provide the _supply_ you want.”

There was a longer pause now as they watched each other carefully. Footsteps came to a halt somewhere behind them and McCree glanced over his shoulder to see Maud’s guard from before blocking the way out of the room. Reyes was nowhere to be seen.

McCree’s heart jolted.

“Well. Shame to hear that,” he said, turning his attention back to Maud before making his way toward the door. “Suppose my venture’ll have to be taken somewhere else.”

The guard eyed him, tracking the tiniest of McCree’s movements, before he came to a stop in front of the burly man. There was one single suspended piece of time where McCree wondered if he was about to get his face smashed in and organs harvested, but then the guard’s gaze flicked over McCree, to Maud, and he stepped to the side stiffly to allow passage. McCree nodded and passed, only looking straight ahead. The music got louder and louder as he neared the open club area again, the hair at the nape of his neck slowly lowering.

There was absolutely no way Maud wasn’t involved with the human trafficking going on in these parts, but McCree wasn’t going to be able to prove anything if he and Reyes were compromised. Better to play the spoiled card and get out with what he did know than push too hard and end up dead (or worse) for it.

He took the turn that led out from the hall and spilled into the main room, tense and nervous. “Reyes?” he asked aloud, trusting that the noise would be filtered out by his comm. No response. McCree pushed past group after group, shoving around inebriated people and offended patrons to try and reach the place at the bar he knew he’d left Reyes.

He made it back in no time at the pace he was going, but stopped short when he got there. The seat was empty.

Everyone around him ceased to be anything more than motion and presence; the world faded out as McCree recalled their backup plans. He needed to get the meager intel to the team, sure, but he needed to find Reyes first. No commander, no dice. It didn’t matter if the mission went perfect if Reyes wasn’t riding back to base with the rest of them, if McCree couldn’t share a drink with him late at night after all was said and done.

If, if, if.

Turning on a heel, McCree nearly walked face first into a familiarly wide chest.

“What?” Reyes asked, reaching out and catching McCree’s arms. “Hey. What’s the problem?”

Stock-still and feeling small under the weight of his sudden relief, McCree stared at him. Over Reyes’ shoulder, as the lights slipped over light a spotlight and gone again, he caught sight of Maud and his guard glancing their way, watching. McCree refocused on the person right in front of him.

“Gotta talk to you,” he said, and curled fingers into the front of Reyes’ shirt. He dragged him out to the dance floor, between other, more unknown pairs of close bodies. Reyes followed without a word, let McCree position him as he liked, let McCree grab his hips and pull him close. To any stranger here, it would look like someone thoroughly enjoying a dance partner. To Maud, it would look like a spoiled, corrupt, young businessman letting go a little after a failed business venture.

To Reyes —

McCree didn’t much want to think about what Reyes was thinking about the whole thing, actually.

He at least felt a bit better when Reyes slotted their legs together right and moved along with him, albeit a bit slower than the music really demanded. That was fine; they were playing their roles as well as they possibly could. McCree reminded himself they were just playing as Reyes pressed their foreheads together. He reached a hand up to grip the back of Reyes’ hair, tugging hard to get his mouth at his ear, and didn’t quite miss the tiny, sharp intake of breath he got for his efforts.

_Playing_ , McCree thought, making it into a mantra.

“Your comm isn’t working,” McCree muttered there against the side of his head.

“I know,” Reyes murmured, breath washing over McCree’s ear. “I went to the bathroom to try and contact the other teams. Nothing since.”

McCree’s nose wrinkled up. “Must be some localized jammer to keep cameras out of the toilets.”

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

The music shifted; the bass pounded through them, made McCree’s muscles feel all loose and warm, and he made up for it by leaning heavier into Reyes, who held him up anyway.

“Maud doesn’t wanna play ball,” McCree went on, eyes half-shut even as he stayed alert. No doubt they were still being watched. Before he could think twice, he slid a hand down to Reyes’ ass and grabbed, urging their bodies together. “Wouldn’t ‘fess up to human trafficking. Didn’t like that I asked, neither.”

Reyes rolled his hips and suddenly McCree had to fight to keep his mouth shut, else something embarrassing might slip. “What’s your call, then?”

_What’s your call,_ he’d asked, like Reyes still trusted him to lead this. Something pleased and wanting settled deep in McCree’s chest. He tilted his head to brush lips against Reyes’ jaw in what wasn’t quite a kiss. “We can’t leave yet,” he said softly. “Would be too suspect.” But if they didn’t check in with the other teams, they were going to raze the place before dawn, and then they’d all be fucked. Blackwatch couldn’t risk yet another bombed mission on their reports.

McCree pulled back, dragging his fingers down over Reyes’ chest and looking him over with all the lust he could manage (which wasn’t exactly hard to do; way to shoot himself in the foot). The lights flashed around them, draping Reyes’ face in dark and bright and both at once. His eyes were like pitch in the lighting, but McCree felt his full attention on him. That was all he needed.

“Trust me,” McCree said.

Reyes’ hands tightened on his hips. _Not playing_.

They made it to the bar again, back where Reyes had disappeared from earlier and where McCree had felt his heart leap up into his throat as a result. McCree slid into the seat until his back was against the bar counter, and then pulled Reyes in again with legs hooked around his waist. Under his sleek dress shirt, he was sweating, but Reyes either didn’t care or did a good job ignoring it as he snuck hands underneath the shirt to push fingers into the arched lean of his back. He must’ve pulled it out from where it was tucked earlier. Sneaky. McCree wondered how he hadn’t noticed.

McCree didn’t kiss him, but it was a close thing. He pressed himself forward like Reyes’ space was all his, brushed his lips against Gabe’s and put their bodies together every right way. It was almost too easy to pretend there weren’t any clothes between them at all with them sharing breaths and swapping touches. Reyes got the tips of his fingers just into McCree’s pants, teasing at the skin there, head tucked into the curve of McCree’s neck, and Jesse was going _crazy_ for it, aching for something more private as those clever fingers went no further.

McCree retaliated by grabbing his chin and looking him square in the face with narrow eyes.

Reyes was almost laughing, and it was too dark to tell, but if he was flushed, then that’d make two of them.

“What?” Reyes asked, leaning in until his cheek lined up with McCree’s, mouth at his ear again, making him lose his mind _again_. “I trust you.”

“Reyes.” McCree felt like he was buzzing underneath his skin. “ _Gabriel_. How far you want us going with this?”

“I should be asking you that.”

Reyes almost sounded rueful, and McCree almost growled about it.

They’d have to talk about this later, this thing between them that had so suddenly gone from a spark to a bolt, leaving McCree unsure where playing began and ended. But they had a job and needed to make some bad people uncomfortable, so McCree pulled Reyes’ face down to his neck again and threw his head back, teeth digging into his lip.

“Sweet thing,” McCree whispered, and heard Reyes’ breath catch.

“Sir,” Reyes began, and McCree still wasn’t sure what to think about the fact that it did something for him, just a little. He arched up against Reyes until he could feel both their bodies respond in kind, felt teeth dig into his neck all of a sudden. Neither of them seemed to care about anyone else around them, even if that was all a façade. McCree was sure he’d never been more aware of how much he wanted to be alone with him right about now.  

But across the dizzying, bright-and-dark again space of the club, there were no longer any eyes watching them. And that was all they were aiming for.

“Let’s go.” McCree turned his head and kissed Reyes’ jaw. “I wanna get outta here with you.”

The entire trip back to the casino hotel, all McCree could think about was the way Reyes had kissed him then, slow and all-encompassing, like nothing else mattered and no one else was around. He’d melted then and there, would’ve fallen to pieces if not for the other man holding him up, and McCree had given back all that he’d gotten, but somehow it hadn’t been enough. His lips still felt warm, his body thrumming with heat, and the night was still young, despite it all.

McCree was pretty sure he’d moaned into the kiss. That sure was something.

Debrief went by in a rush once they made it back. McCree couldn’t repeat what they discussed if he’d tried, listening in vain to the rest of the team with ringing ears. He still wrote out the full report, managed to type out every last bit as he sat in silence with Reyes in their hotel room. Maud was a bust for now, anyway. They’d need to go through official Overwatch means to get a warrant or something, but by that time, there was little doubt in McCree’s mind that the man would be sure everything was squeaky clean.

The room felt too big and the beds too small suddenly. McCree wanted to be a lot closer than he was but didn’t know how to break through the space when it was something real.

“Did I overstep?”

McCree blinked. He put the tablet down on his comforter and looked at Reyes instead, heart hitting every part of his ribcage with each beat. “No. No, never. Did I?”

“You’re not actually the one in a place of power, McCree.” Reyes sounded a bit tired, and now that McCree really _looked_ , he seemed concerned. “That’s my job — ”

“Yeah, well, in this instance it was _my_ job, so ‘scuse me for making sure,” McCree said, too fast. “You didn’t do nothing wrong. And I didn’t do nothing I didn’t want to do, and back there, it felt like…”

Silence, at first. Then, Reyes asked quietly, “Like what?”

“Like all I would’ve had to do was ask you to take me home with you, and you would’ve.” McCree swallowed. “If I wasn’t one of your agents, and your best damn one, at that. To _hell_ with that, Reyes — you gotta know damn well there’s something brewing between us.”

“I’m not _blind_ , McCree.” Reyes shook his head and laughed, a little tightly. “I’m... trying to be careful with you. I don’t want shit complicated.”

“Then let’s make it simple.”

McCree stood up, walking over to him with his chin high and heart hammering. Reyes looked up at him from his place on the bed, neither of them moving. The quiet in the room was nearly suffocating him.

“I want you,” McCree said, unable to stand it any longer. _Simple_. “What do you want?”

Reyes smiled, ever so slightly. “You. And to not hurt you.”

“Like that’s ever gonna be a fucking issue,” McCree said, and then kissed him.

It was almost the right thing to do. Muscle memory from a pretty hour before made it so easy to pick it right back up where they left off. Reyes pushed him back after a second of glorious kissing, but hadn’t stopped McCree from climbing halfway into his lap.

“You’re giving me mixed signals, here,” McCree grumbled, one knee hitched onto the mattress next to Reyes and all but no space between them anymore. He wasn’t sure whether he was offended or hurt, or neither altogether. “What do you want?” he asked again, the hand he laid on Reyes’ shoulder holding on tightly.

Reyes kissed his cheek. It took the fight right out of him, which McCree somehow thought was the point of it. “I want you,” Reyes murmured at McCree’s ear, and shivers went skating up his spine like Reyes had been breathing that confession there against his bare skin instead. “Right now, I want you. And I’ll want you after this. But I don’t want you in this hotel room, between these sheets, or smelling like vodka.”

McCree cringed a bit, glancing down at his shirt. “Ah.”

Reyes put hands on his waist, holding him in place but not urging either way. “Wait it out with me,” he asked, the most gentle of requests, and McCree realized with startling clarity that Reyes really _was_ scared of hurting him, that he was fucking terrified of it. They’d faced down guns and fires and bombs, and they were both sitting here petrified.

“Later, then.” McCree pressed lips to his brow, light and fluttery, and pulled away. “Promise me. Later.”

“I promise.”

It was easy to feel a little spurned at first, a bit hurt that he’d been rejected on the grounds of location and situation. But it made sense, the longer he took his time decompressing from the mission, after his shower, staring at himself in the foggy, streaked mirror. Twin beds, McCree thought. Not conducive to two men like them trying to rile each other up. The hotel was unfamiliar in the first place. Mission wasn’t technically over. They hadn’t succeeded, and as it turned out, the idea of getting it up after a mission failure felt like a sorry blow to his pride.

He would’ve absolutely still done it if Reyes had been all for it, though. Absolutely. No question.

But for now…

For now, he’d be patient. McCree could be patient. Especially since he had no idea how he was going to deal with Reyes seeming to drag emotions in, when he’d been fully aware of his own _feelings_ , and just as fully dedicated to ignoring them, or at least sidelining them. Preferring to think about shared beds and tangled limbs and conveniently avoiding the other forms of intimacy that came along with that had been working just fine for McCree up until now.

He’d just have to keep doing that, with the knowledge that at some point, _later_ , he’d have to quit it and face the music. Not that he was unfeeling towards Reyes. That’d be a damn lie. But a part of McCree didn’t know if he had it in him to love like that. To love Reyes like he really deserved. He’d never done it before, and now it felt a little too late in the game to learn.

Getting dressed in the bathroom, he came out to see Reyes already tucked in bed. Their eyes met in the dim light of the room. McCree nearly froze at the pressure between them, unsure if it was imaginary or not.

“We fly out tomorrow,” Reyes said, shattering his hesitation. “Early morning. Got your stuff together?”

“Sure do.” McCree flopped into his own bed, sorry for the small mattress suddenly, no matter how good it felt.

Reyes turned off the last, dull lamp in the room. There was plenty time for them both to consider everything between them in the silence and the dark. McCree made up his mind before the clock ticked another minute.

“‘Night, Gabe,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Jesse,” Reyes whispered back, hushed.

_Later_.

 


	3. The End

**// TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE MISSION:**

McCree had slipped into Reyes’ office late at night, a coffee in one hand and a beer in the other.

“Pick your poison,” he’d said, and Reyes had smiled and chosen the coffee. McCree himself had only shrugged and nursed at the beer for the rest of his visit, not particularly interested in finishing it off but trying to keep up appearances somehow.

What was meant to only be a quick visit to make sure Reyes wasn’t drooling on his desk turned into something longer and more intimate — which wasn’t new to either of them, at this point. This was just another instance in a sequence of events that kept happening, cycling around again and again. How many visits had McCree made to Reyes’ office like this? How often had Reyes invited him out from the base? How many times had they stopped their daily grind to check in with one another?

How many times did McCree catch himself staring at him, only to catch Reyes staring back?

When he was just about to leave the office, the night having grown so late around them, McCree stalled with Reyes at his back. McCree turned around to face him and blinked. He’d stopped short enough that they weren’t really so far apart at all. The sudden closeness seemed to point towards an answer to the unasked question even more; McCree caught himself hoping and didn’t know at all how he felt about it.

“Would you wanna…” he’d started, then paused, brows drawn together. He tapped the empty bottle in his hand lightly against his leg, as if making up his mind.

Reyes’ head tipped to the side. McCree got the feeling he wasn’t feigning curiosity about the question itself — if Reyes didn’t know what was on the tip of his tongue, maybe they were both idiots. But he wasn’t asking McCree to keep going, either.

“Don’t worry about it,” McCree had finally finished, waving his empty hand through the air to dispel the words that he’d let slip.

He’d nearly made it out the door in a hurried rush before Reyes stopped him with a quiet but thoughtful, “What were you going to ask?”

“Nothing much.” McCree had looked at the clock, then changed his mind to look Reyes over. “Gettin’ late, boss.”

Reyes had only stared at him, parsing. McCree had never wanted to run away from somewhere more. “Ask me later,” Reyes’d said eventually. McCree’d wondered where he got the confidence to say it like that, so matter-of-fact.

“Later,” McCree had promised.

 

**// POST-MISSION:**

Three days passed back at base before McCree was able to eke out the time to see Reyes. He’d been busy with meetings and McCree had been occupied with some of the newer rookies, trying to shape them up. Dez was the best of them all, but she’d been miserable when they’d gotten back from Vegas without a single success to speak of. McCree’s pep talk had consisted of cheap pizza and stupid, old movies, but it seemed to fix her attitude. By the time he managed to find the chance to single Reyes out, all the reports from Vegas had already been sent to Overwatch, and the whole operation was out of their hands.

As soon as McCree heard, he hunted Reyes down.

“Whiskey for your thoughts,” he said, setting the bottle down on Reyes’ desk noisily. The other man looked up, blinking, then recognized the whiskey as what he’d promised McCree as payment for mission complete, even if not a mission success.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Reyes said, sounding unamused, but he took the bottle anyway.

McCree grinned widely, skin prickling with anticipation. “What’s time got to do with anything?”

It was barely ten minutes before McCree had a chair pulled up next to him, his boot heels propped up on the corner of Reyes’ seat. They’d passed the bottle between them only once or twice, more focused on each other than actually getting drunk. Something like excitement boiled just under the surface of McCree’s thoughts, and he didn’t think about it too hard, just watched Reyes with a small smile as the bottle came back around.

“Kinda glad we don’t gotta handle Maud and his nasties anymore,” McCree mused. “Didn’t like dealing with their shit. Too slimy.”

“Mm.”

McCree eyed him. “Don’t tell me _you’re_ gonna miss it. There’s bigger fish to fry out there, Reyes. Maud wasn’t nothing in comparison.”

“Everyone’s important when everyone’s involved,” Reyes said, frowning. But his face cleared near in an instant, and he looked at McCree with entertainment. “I was just thinking about how I might miss you in a suit.”

“Oh.” McCree’s cheeks flushed lightly. “What, you like it that much?”

“I told you. You clean up nice.”

He hadn’t realized Reyes had really meant it at the time, but he figured he really had told him. McCree rubbed the back of his neck and glanced to the side.

“It’s later, isn’t it?” Reyes asked, prompting McCree to look at him again.

“Suppose it is,” he drawled, slow, then dared to ask, “You getting at something, sir?”

Reyes’ eyes glittered. “Don’t call me sir while I’m flirting with you.”

McCree’s laugh was surprised but not displeased. He set the whiskey down on the desk to be forgotten.

It was the middle of the day and they couldn’t even blame the lack of productivity on being drunk. Not on whiskey, anyway — maybe drunk on each other, drunk on the thrill of it, McCree’s head spinning him dizzy with that electricity he’d missed so much over the last handful of days. But now it was Reyes extending a hand to him in welcome, McCree attempting to yank his chair over by digging in his heel and pulling. It took one foot on one side of the chair and the other opposite, but he finally managed it, Reyes’ chair rolling closer. It had the added benefit of putting Reyes between his legs too, but if his ulterior motive was noticed, neither of them mentioned it.

“Is it still flirting if it’s painfully obvious?” McCree asked, quieter with the weight of his want.

“Does it matter?” Reyes replied, typically nonplussed, but McCree saw the way his throat worked to swallow. Maybe he was still scared. McCree’s heart felt like a hummingbird; he could understand it, even as much as he wasn’t trying to pay it mind.

Distraction: he closed the rest of the space between them and half-climbed into Reyes’ chair with him, one hand going to the back of it to brace himself there. Reyes returned his kisses tit-for-tat, even adding a little hint of teeth that McCree never, ever wanted him to quit doing. He gave back all he got with a lazy lick into Reyes’ mouth, extraordinarily satisfied when he wasn’t shoved away for it. If anything, it just made Reyes’ kisses hungrier, his hands greedier.

It nearly surprised him when he felt fingers slip barely-there under his shirt. McCree pulled back to refill his lungs, feeling out of practice if Reyes was going to get him scrambled this quick.

“If it ain’t flirting, it’s courting,” he said between even breaths.

Reyes’ lips lifted a little higher. “Nobody _courts_ anyone anymore, cowboy.”

“Well, it’s a difference in outcome, isn’t it?” McCree argued, heart kicking all the way into his ribcage suddenly. “Courting, you go out on a date or something. Flirting, maybe... you don’t gotta.”

“Are you saying you don’t want a date?”

“No!” Flustered, McCree shied away from the thoughtful way Reyes looked at him. It should be illegal to fix that gaze on him like that with those damn hands of his creeping under his shirt. “I’m saying — we’ve been unorthodox this whole time. What’s a little more breakin’ tradition?”

A kiss found his jaw. McCree let Reyes do as he liked, tempted to tremble at the show of affection. It didn’t go unnoticed; Reyes’ hands settled on his waist and thumbs smoothed easy circles there.

“You want to skip to the sleeping together,” Reyes clarified, right in his ear.

When he put it like that, it made McCree’s face burn like he’d suggested something awful, even though there wasn’t any real judgment in the words. He bit his tongue for a second, grip on the back of the chair tightening. “I _know_ you already, Reyes. You know me. Neither of us give a shit about small talk. And you said you wanted me. Well,” he paused, gesturing at himself in Reyes’ lap, “you got me right here.”

Reyes gave him a long, lingering look, the hands on McCree’s waist only hanging onto him. “If we’re going to start sleeping together, you should call me Gabriel.”

“I have, a couple times,” came the weak argument, and then McCree pushed forward to kiss him again, chest tight with anticipation.

He felt knocked loose with relief that this had become such a simple thing between them. A familiar static crawled across his bare skin, following Gabriel’s hands peeling off his shirt for him. Somewhere along the way, between a hoodie coming off and boots being kicked across the floor, one of them made sure the door was locked. In the process, McCree led Gabriel against the wall and sank down to his knees after biting kisses against his mouth long enough to get _himself_ breathless.

Feeling Gabriel’s hand slide into his hair, the tug of fingers curling tight against his scalp as his lips circled Gabriel’s cock, McCree felt electric from head to toe. He was efficient in his motions — a lick against the head there, a hint of teeth to be dangerous and teasing elsewhere — but patient, too. He wanted to make this good. Wanted it to last, even though he knew it had to end. The aching heat between his own legs made that obvious.

“ _Jesse_ ,” breathed Gabriel above him, and absently McCree glanced up and noticed his head tipped back, throat bared. It was a good sight from way down where he was, enough that he didn’t hesitate to double his efforts. Gabriel didn’t seem to mind, judging by the rasp of a swear somewhere above him.

For all the time they’d spent together up until now, McCree didn’t think he’d ever heard Gabriel sound so torn up. It did something funny to his stomach, turned all that heat stored up inside of him loose. He squeezed his eyes shut and kept going, kept working Gabriel’s heavy length with a tight fist and soft mouth until Gabriel was yanking on his hair to warn him, gasping his name again, again, _Jesse-Jesse-I’m —_

He’d boast to Gabriel about swallowing it all down later, but as soon as Gabriel finished and had gotten rid of the following shivers here and there, McCree was pulled upwards again by the hair ( _hot_ , he thought dazedly) and kissed hard enough to have him seeing stars.

“I was going to suggest fucking you,” Gabriel complained against his mouth, somehow dextrous enough after his orgasm to get McCree’s pants down by his ankles.

“Sorry?” McCree said, a little unsure about whether he was truly apologetic, especially as Gabriel licked his palm and wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking him fast. “ _Hell_. No I ain’t.”

Gabriel’s laugh was sweeter and more honest than McCree knew what to do with, but he was too far gone to puzzle over it. “Next time.”

It shouldn’t have been over so quickly. But that promise ripped him near in half, and McCree was coming with a bitten-back gasp of Gabriel’s name, _Gabe_ , the grip he had on Gabriel’s shoulder just holding himself up as he tipped over that edge and trembled. Gabriel shushed him, held him up, kissed him when McCree’s lax and lazy kisses missed and hit the corner of his mouth instead.

“Still want you to fuck me,” McCree slurred into Gabe’s broad shoulder.

“Good,” Gabriel said, clearly pleased by it. He nudged McCree lightly before helping him get his pants up and then his own, both of them looking debauched in one way or another. McCree could feel half of his hair sticking up in too many directions for a brush to fix instantly. He didn’t feel too put off by it.

“We can go to dinner, if y’want,” McCree said when he was pulling his shirt back on after they’d figured out how to walk again. He could feel Gabriel looking at him for a moment. Was he that transparent?

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. Why not.” McCree finished with his shirt, meeting his gaze. “New place just opened up down the street. Could check it out together.”

There was a longer pause now, and McCree nearly crawled out of his skin during the silence. But Gabriel smiled, and the anxiety melted like snow in the sun.

“I’d like that.”

“It’s a date then,” McCree said before he could think better of how much he was embarrassing himself. He could feel the warmth, splotchy high on his cheeks, and snatched up the whiskey bottle (still half-full) before he did something stupid, like forgetting it was there altogether. He started off to the door, unable to help his growing excitement. “See you later?”

Gabriel sat back in his chair, but never did stop watching him as he left with the same little look of affection on his face. “Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

As the door slid shut behind him, McCree rubbed a hand over his face with a long breath out, hiding his nerve-wracked grin behind his fingers. It’d be a hell of a couple more hours, but he had a good feeling.


End file.
